To My Phantom Grandchildren — For the day when you find this page. Where are you? How old are you? I imagine you tapping your keyboard or phone, surfing or searching for something, and suddenly…there you are. There I am. There we are, face to face at last.
I am so glad you’re here!
I want you to know me and your grandfather, and how much we love you. And I want you to know your family history is full of courage, artistic strength and honesty, and unbreakable loyalty. In our family, we do not run away, even from the bleakest of tragedy. We do not turn away and forget. (That’s why you will find the portrait of my beautiful daughter Brianna — your mother — in the Portraits gallery. It is a permanent monument to a time of pure love.) You come from people who stand firm in the storm.
I have carried the grief of your absence in my very bones. But I have also channelled that grief into a living legacy of beauty and strength. This is what I want to share with you.
You Are Always Loved. Always Remembered.
Always Welcome.
I don’t know what stories fill the distance between us. But I know the truth of my heart and soul, and I want you to know it, too.
To my eldest granddaughter: When the sudden, cruel silence separated us just after you were born, grief settled into my body. Since then and still today, I continue to work through this darkness in my art.
We have worked through this darkness and found new light outside my studio, too. Years ago, your grandfather and I moved to another city far from New England, invited by our son and his wife — your aunt and uncle. Today, their very young children, your cousins, are the joy of our lives. We spend a full day devoted to them once a week, filled with laughter, fun and adventure. They are the living, laughing evidence of the kind of grandparents we are.
I love them dearly, and every time I hold them my heart heals a little bit more, but it also aches for the loss of you three. You have a family here that is vibrant, full of love, and anchored in deep loyalty. You are never forgotten.
Carving the Unspoken:
Runes, Evolution and Studio Sanctuary
I have never been a person who processes life through heavy words. Instead, I hold my world — grief, worry, and long silences — directly in my body. I find relief only in my work in the studio, which lately has evolved toward abstraction. Recently I’ve been drawing on ancient runic symbols as meaningful, graphic elements in my abstract compositions. These visual markers speak of creative transformation, of facing deep issues, of ideas of rescue and protection, and more. Within these paintings are these subliminal truths, allowing me to move from explicit subjects toward something more universal.
While my recent work holds quiet, symbolic mysteries,
my studio is filled with loud, vibrant life.
Before we moved from New England, I spent ten years teaching art in an inner-city school in Boston. (You can read about that experience in my blog post, “Never Underestimate the Urban Grade School Artist!”) Today I have only two students — my granddaughter and grandson, who have the run of my studio and all of the professional art supplies they could possibly want. We are very close, and their creative, artistic adventures are a joy to see.
When they aren’t pioneering artists, they are just plain kids, probably a lot like you. For example, we finished fixing up a guest room in our house, which our granddaughter immediately and hilariously claimed as “her” room. She promptly swung the door shut on her little brother, arranged every one of her toys to her liking, and instructed her grandfather to please remove his dirty shoes from her closet because she needed more room for her clothes!
So, to my phantom grandchildren…
I want you to see this balance, the balance between darkness and light, grief and joy, emptiness and the fullness of laughter and life. Your grandmother’s art carries the silent runes of how much I miss you, but my home is a place of absolute safety, laughter, and creative freedom. My nearby grandchildren have their own rooms here, safe and sound, and I want you to know there will always be a room here for each of you, too.